


Cat's Cafe

by TheAsexualScorpio



Series: ASOIAF Ficlets [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Major Character Undeath, Mild Blood, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualScorpio/pseuds/TheAsexualScorpio
Summary: Officer Jon Snow has been going to Cat's Cafe during his breaks for nearly fifteen years, and in that time, he's developed something of a rapport with the night shift barista, Sansa Stark. Then, two events, barely a month apart, change everything.~~~~Weird AU's Jonsa "coffee shop at 3am with a vampire" prompt. Also blessing in the name of Old Gods if Jon is officer who has been going there for 15 years, but he never actually questioned why his favourite barista does not age.





	

They call the 11-7am shift at the Wintertown Sheriff’s Department “the Night’s Watch.”

Officer Jon Snow has been on the Night’s Watch since he started at the department. It’s terrible, but he has long since developed a system. At _some_ point during his shift, usually somewhere between 3 and 5am, he goes to Cat’s Cafe for coffee.

That’s when Sansa is working, and she is, without doubt, Jon’s favorite barista. She had his order memorized within a week, and she somehow always has it ready when he comes through the door. When Cat’s thinking of adding something new to the menu, Sansa always gives him samples for the low price of his opinion. She talks enough to be friendly but not enough so that he can _feel_ the energy draining out of him. She even flirts with him sometimes. Even though he knows she doesn’t mean it, it’s still a hell of a confidence builder, because she also happens to be one of the most beautiful women Jon’s ever seen in real life. It’s a beautiful, symbiotic relationship based in great coffee, 100% tips, and bland conversation. He doesn’t imagine anything beyond that for fifteen years, and then two random events, barely a month apart, change everything.

The first is innocuous, almost not worth mentioning, but it sticks out just the same. It’s the first time he brings his new partner to Cat’s. Olly is a nineteen year old rookie who’s not nearly as jaded as he thinks he is. Jon sees a hint of that youthful enthusiasm when the boy first lays eyes on the Sansa, and a grin splits his face.  

“Hey, Jon…” he starts, his eyes still on Sansa.

“We talked about this, Olly,” Jon interrupts, his voice husky. He takes a long swallow of his coffee and lets out a contented sigh, his eyes falling shut. “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation.”

“But I just—”

“Coffee,” Jon says without opening his eyes. “And contemplation.” 

“Youthinkthehotwaitressissingle?”

That Jon understands that is a statement to how many frazzled witnesses he’s spoken to over the years. He opens his eyes and raises a single eyebrow at his partner. “Didn’t have you pegged as a cougar chaser.”

Olly frowns. “Cougar chaser?”

Jon’s other eyebrow rises, and he cocks his head in Sansa’s direction. When Olly still looks mystified, he scoffs. “For fuck’s sake, Olly. She’s my age, or thereabouts.”

Olly gapes at him a moment before turning to stare at Sansa.

Jon reaches across the table to cuff the back of the head. “Don’t stare, were you raised in a barn?”

Rubbing the back of his head, he glares at Jon, but it looks more like suspicion than anger. “No way in hell is she pushing forty,” he states.

“Hey!” Jon is thirty-five, damn it. That does _not_ count as “pushing forty.”

“ _I_ think you’re just a dirty, sabotaging, old man who wants her for yourself,” Olly snickers. “Didn’t know you had it in you, boss.”

Jon scoffs and goes back to his coffee, ignoring his partner when he tries to talk again. He tells himself it’s the “dirty old man” crack that makes him want to laugh when Olly tries to ask Sansa only to get shot down. Justice.

Olly’s reaction sticks with Jon though. He's been a cop long enough to be reasonably confident in his ability to tell when someone is lying, and Olly's shock looked genuine. It seemed like his partner really believed Sansa was his own age, or close enough. Jon has noticed before how well Sansa ages, but he never thought anyone would mistake her for nineteen.

He finds himself watching her after that night, _really_ watching her, and he tries to be as objective as possible. He doesn’t think he’s exaggerating when he says she looks the same way she did when he first started coming here. He has no idea how it’s possible.

Until he does.

Olly never comes back to the cafe, preferring the Dunkin Donuts two doors down, and Jon refuses to quit going to Cat’s just because Olly got embarrassed. They finally end up breaking procedure and separating for their respective breaks, so Jon is the only customer in the place when a man bursts through the door, gun in hand. The man sees Jon’s uniform first, and Jon gets shot before he even has a chance to stand up.

“211 in progress,” he wheezes into the radio attached to his shoulder. “Cat’s Cafe on Fifth—” He coughs, and it’s a hacking, ugly thing that tastes wet and metallic. “Officer down.” 

He collapses to the floor and lands on his back. He tries to breathe, but it burns his nose and throat and rips into his chest. He feels like he's drowning, and he knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that he won’t survive long enough for even Olly to get here. He gasps, blood gurgling in the back of throat, when Sansa appears above him out of nowhere. 

The lights behind her seem to set her hair ablaze, but the red liquid running sluggishly down her chin is what catches Jon’s attention. The realization that he failed to protect her, failed so spectacularly at the most basic part of his job, hits his gut like a second gunshot. He tries to apologize, but all that comes out is a thin whine that irritates his throat and makes him cough again. A rivulet of blood runs down his chin, and his vision begins to dim…

He rouses a little when she smacks him on the mouth.

Her lips are moving, but he can’t make out what she’s saying. If he had to guess, he would say she’s telling him to ‘drink.’ Drink what? Her hand is still on his mouth, the fleshy part beneath her thumb jammed past his teeth. He can’t drink anything. He wants to though, wants to get the taste of blood out of his mouth—

When he opens his eyes again, Sam is the one he sees. When Jon moves, Sam beams brightly enough to power all of Wintertown. He leans forward and grips Jon’s wrist, giving it a little shake.

“Jon, Jon, how’re you feeling?” he asks eagerly.

 _I’ve been shot, how d'you_ think _I’m feeling,_ he wants to snap, but then he feels it.

Nothing.

No grogginess, no pain. It’s like he only dreamed about being shot, but the heart monitor attached to his finger and Sam’s grip on his wrist all feel very real. He’s definitely in a hospital.

“Sam, what happened?” he rasps.

“Jon, it was amazing, none of us can explain it!” Sam looks like he’s about to burst from excitement.

“What?”

“You were shot. You were—” Now, he looks stricken, and Jon moves his hand so he can give Sam’s fingers a squeeze. He gets a weak smile in return, and then Sam takes a breath. “You were drowning in your own blood. There’s no way you could have survived the trip to the hospital, but you did! More than that, you’ve practically healed overnight!”

Jon gapes at his friend. There’s no way that’s possible. He tells Sam as much.

“It shouldn’t be,” Sam agrees. He squeezes Jon’s hand. “But it happened anyway, thank the gods.”

“Yeah,” Jon replies absently. “Thank the gods.”

Several more doctors come to scratch their heads at him, and then he’s released. When he gets back to his apartment, he spends the rest of the day pacing. He doesn’t understand. He should have died. He _knows_ he was dying. Sam said he was dying. Everyone thought he was dying, but somehow, he lived anyway. It’s not right. This isn’t some…miracle. _Something_ happened to him, but what?

When night falls, he’s out of his apartment and running before he even thinks of a destination. Ten minutes later, he realizes that he’s in a neighborhood he doesn’t recognize. He keeps running. His eyes zero in on a broken down brownstone at the end of the street, and he runs even faster. He doesn’t stop until he slams into the brownstone’s water stained front door.

It opens a moment later, and there's Sansa. One look at her, and suddenly Jon _knows_. He doesn’t know how, but he knows, with the same bone-deep certainty he felt when he was dying, that Sansa is the reason he’s still breathing. They stare at each other for a few moments, and then Jon speaks, the question forced out before he can think better of it.

“What did you do to me?”

She gives him a rueful, close-lipped smile before raising her chin and opening her mouth. Jon gasps when her canines begin to lengthen and taper off into wicked looking points. They're almost an inch long when they finally stop growing. She lowers her chin, and her blue eyes seem to pin him in place.

“We need to talk,” she replies.


End file.
